


The Purr-est Love There Is

by b0ba_f3rnz



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0ba_f3rnz/pseuds/b0ba_f3rnz
Summary: Jon gets a cat that's it that's the fic
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	The Purr-est Love There Is

The November afternoon was colder than Jon had expected. He adjusted his jacket, and for a second considered digging in his bag for the scarf Martin had given him. He shook off the thought. He knew it was ridiculous, no one from the institute was likely to see him on this particular part of his route home, but it still felt like a blow to his pride. He bristled at the memory of Martin pressing the scarf into his hands.  
“Jon, it’s so cold out, and all you ever wear is that coat, that can’t be enough.”  
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. And besides that, you doing a full afternoon’s work would make a much better present.”  
Jon had enough on his plate without Martin fussing over him. It was bad enough that Sasha had somehow managed to convince him to go home early for the weekend. However, his head was, admittedly, pounding, and he was sure she was right in saying he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He inhaled. The fresh air was helping somewhat with his headache, and he had half a mind to keep taking deep breaths until it was gone, and then turn around and go back to the institute. He checked his watch, and cursed under his breath. He wouldn’t make it in time. He may as well just head home. He walked the familiar pavement, hardly noticing where he was going. This became a problem as a large shadow appeared in his periphery, and he stumbled to the side, looking up to see an old woman sat outside one of the storefronts.  
“Uh- Sorry.” Jon said, running a hand through his hair.  
“No worries, dear!” The woman said. She was wearing a thick coat, but had stretched a shirt with the words “Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” written in heavy white font over it. Jon looked up at the front of the building, dread building in his stomach. It was, indeed, the animal shelter. He had always managed to cross the street before reaching it, but he must have forgotten.  
“Would you like to come in, dear?” The woman asked. “We’re having a fee waiver on senior cats this week. So many of them need homes, such a shame…”  
Jon looked back at the old woman, a curt “no thank you” ready, but it died on his lips. She was looking up at him with such hope in her eyes, and he felt whatever resolve he had in him whither.  
“Right.” He said, smiling tightly at the woman, and opened the door. He could already feel the irritation building. This was distinctly not how he had planned to spend his afternoon. He would do one loop around and leave as quickly as possible without it seeming awkward. This was made slightly more difficult by the fact that there were only 3 other people in the place, and that a jolly voice called out to him as soon as he entered.  
“Hullo! Looking to find anything in particular?”  
Jon turned to see a kind looking man sat at a reception desk in the corner.  
“Uh, just having a look ‘round, thanks.” He said, trying to keep his tone polite. He made a beeline for the back of the space, where a wall of cat cages stood as tall as he was. He walked aimlessly along the row, stopping at the end to read the names. A small orange tag with the name “Tiberius” caught his eye, and he almost laughed. The old tabby in the cage hardly looked distinguished enough to be given the name of a Roman emperor.  
“Ah, we’ve had him for a while.” Came a voice from behind Jon. He jumped.  
“Sorry, sorry.” Said the man from the reception desk. “But I saw you takin’ a look at old Tiberius here and I had to come over. He’s been here for ages, bit standoffish at first but he’s a real sweetheart once you get to know him. Here-” The man said, reaching in front of Jon and opening the cage. “You can pet him.”  
Jon’s brain had gone completely blank. He couldn’t remember the last time he had interacted with an animal aside from the pigeons outside the institute, and those he normally just shooed off. He stretched out his hand and held it in front of the cat’s nose, was that what you did with cats? Or was that dogs? It hardly mattered, because the next thing he knew the cat was butting its head against his hand and purring loudly. Jon let out a startled laugh.  
“He likes you!” The man said, clapping Jon on the back. “He’s never done that with anyone he hasn’t known for at least a few weeks before!”  
Jon looked at the cat, now laid on its side underneath his hand. Its face was undeniably sweet, and there was something calming to its rhythmic breathing. But still. He was not, and had never been the type of person to keep pets, and he could hardly take care of an animal with all of his responsibilities at the institute. He withdrew his hand.  
“I don’t think my building is pet friendly.” He said to the man, whose face fell slightly. This was, as far as Jon knew, a lie, but for some reason he didn’t feel like telling the man the truth. The man sighed.  
“Damn. Well, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you again if you ever want to stop by.”  
“Right.” Jon said, and walked out.  
The sun had nearly set, and it had gotten significantly colder. Jon shivered and then, rolling his eyes, pulled the scarf out of his bag. He hated how much warmer he felt when he put it on. 

Jon’s flat was, like everything else about him, ruthlessly practical. The only sign of humanity (aside from the takeaway containers in the trash) was the large bookshelf stood against his living room wall. It contained mostly thick volumes on history or politics, although most of the bottom shelf was taken up by two glass cases of taxidermied moths. There was another, empty compartment at the bottom, and Jon thought absently that it was the perfect size for a cat. He shook himself. Even if his flat was pet friendly, he would still be unavailable to care for it most of the day, and besides that, he didn’t even want the thing. Someone else was sure to adopt Tiberius- why did he remember its name- soon, and they’d be much happier with him. He pinched at the bridge of his nose. His headache had returned in full force, and he thought, for once, he should probably have an early night. He changed and collapsed into bed, his exhaustion taking him by surprise. Maybe he’d sleep in tomorrow, leave his emails for the afternoon. He closed his eyes, and let sleep overtake him.  
He dreamt of that damn cat. It followed him through his flat, his room at uni, and his office at the institute. He woke up the next morning feeling rested for the first time in a while, and checked his clock to see that it was almost noon. A flash of panic burst through his chest before he remembered it was Saturday. The day was brilliantly sunny, and Jon actually felt some relief at not having to work.  
He moved into the kitchen, unsure whether to make himself breakfast or lunch. He saw the ends of the scarf peeking out from under his coat. He briefly wondered if he could discreetly take it to a charity shop, but that seemed a bit rude even for him. He’d just stuff it somewhere and never wear it, and maybe donate it in a few months time.  
He decided to make breakfast, and got out milk and cereal. He poured milk into the bowl first, recalling distractedly an article he had read saying that only 13% of people in the UK did that. As he poured cereal into the bowl, the thought of cat food occurred to him.  
He set the box down hard on the counter, and rubbed his eyes. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about that cat? That settled it, he decided. He would make a list of all of the costs and negatives associated with owning a pet, and then he would go to the shelter and look at the cat one last time, and then that would be that. Hopefully there would be someone different at the reception desk. He grabbed his notepad from his bag and began to scribble down every reason why he shouldn’t get a cat. Vet bills, maintenance, food and not to mention having to empty cat litter. And that was skating around the issue that he’d never in his life kept a pet. He ate his cereal angrily as he read over the list, and then prepared to make what would, certainly, be his last trip to the animal shelter.  
The temperature hadn’t much changed since the last time Jon had been on the street, but the sun made it much more bearable. He was almost enjoying the cold, it certainly beat the close air of the archives. He crossed the street to enter the animal shelter, and opened the door. He stopped short upon seeing the same man who had been in there last night. Instead of being at the reception desk, he was at the back wall, and one of the cages was open. The man turned, holding Tiberius in his arms. His face fell slightly as he saw Jon.  
“Come back to visit?” He asked.  
“Uh, yes, I suppose.” Jon said, taken aback by the man’s reaction.  
“I’m afraid you’ve not come at the best time.” The man said, stroking Tiberius, who meowed softly. “Turns out he’s been here a bit too long for the higher ups’ liking. They say he’s unlikely to find a home at this point, so unless anything’s changed with your landlord...”  
Jon stared at the man, and at the cat in his arms. The cat looked so...tired, like it just wanted a nice place to curl up and rest.  
“Wait.” Jon said, the words spilling out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. “As it turns out, I misread something in the regulations of my building, uh, something to do with the codes, anyways-” He stopped. “I can take him.”  
The man’s face lit up.  
“Seriously? I mean-” He suddenly looked concerned. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble or anything.”  
“Yes, I’m sure.” Jon said, testily, before he could change his mind.  
The man laughed. “Well, right then!” He walked behind the reception desk, Tiberius still in his arms. He fumbled for a pen before seeming to realize this.  
“D’you want to hold him?” He asked, offering the cat to Jon, and before Jon could protest he pressed the cat into his arms. Jon froze, torn between fear of dropping the cat and the thought that there would soon be cat dander all over his coat. He was just starting to realize what he had done. He looked at the man, his mind quickly turning to icy panic. He couldn’t very well rescind his offer, could he? He cast about for an excuse, maybe he could say he had someone at home who was allergic to cats? But he’d already offered, and the man was taking Tiberius back and giving him a pen, and telling him where to sign, and Jon was signing. Then he was being clapped on the back by the reception man, whose name was apparently Frank, and then Tiberius was being loaded into a cat carrier and Jon was on his way home, carrying a cat.  
He got halfway home before he stopped and truly realized the gravity of this situation. All his life, he had only ever been responsible for his own wellbeing, and he hadn’t even handled that very well. He lifted up the carrier and looked into the cat’s eyes.  
“Damn you.” He muttered, then instantly felt a pang of guilt. That was ridiculous, he reminded himself. It couldn’t understand him. But the fact remained that there was absolutely no way he could take this cat back to the shelter. He couldn’t leave it to die, at least not while it looked at him like that. It meowed softly, and Jon continued walking with an irritated huff. Maybe he could keep it for a week and take it to another shelter? But then he’d still have to buy all the necessary supplies… maybe he could pass it off to Martin? God knows the man needed something to fuss over. That would be extremely unprofessional, though, Jon thought. His head was starting to hurt. At least he’d be able to tell Sasha that her sending him home early hadn’t helped him, he thought satisfiedly. This was the most stressful weekend he’d had since he’d started his position, and he hadn’t even gotten any work done yet. He unlocked the door to his flat, his head still spinning, and set the cat carrier on the floor. Tiberius meowed again. Jon looked at the carrier.  
“I suppose I’ll have to let you out.” He said, kneeling down to unpin the door. Tiberius stretched, walked out, and rubbed himself along Jon’s leg as he stood up. Jon smiled, slightly. That he didn’t mind so much. The smile quickly fell from his face. He still needed to figure out what to do. He grabbed his pen and paper, still with the list of negatives from that morning. He stared at the list, not processing any of it, before reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette. He could use the break. He lit the cigarette, and then looked at the cat who was now stretched across the kitchen floor.  
“I probably shouldn’t do this with you in here, should I.” He muttered. Why did he keep talking to the cat? It didn’t speak English. He crossed the room and opened the window, leaning out slightly so the smoke blew outside. He could tell the archival assistants that a friend of his had surrendered the cat, but he didn’t feel that he could take care of it, and thought he’d ask them if they’d be interested before taking it to a shelter? That seemed unprofessional, but he was also running out of options, and it was better than just asking Martin. Of course, this entire plan revolved around them accepting that he had friends. He shook himself. They had no reason to believe he didn’t. He resolved to ask them all about it on Monday morning. He shut the window, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray on the sill. Tiberius got up, and rubbed against Jon’s legs again. Jon leaned down to pet him, almost able to enjoy his company now that he would be out of his home by Monday. Surely one of the assistants would fall in love with him (he strongly suspected Martin, but Sasha and Tim weren’t out of the question) and would take him home and give him the happiness he deserved.  
He opened up his work laptop, ready to settle down and actually get something done, before realizing he needed to buy food and other...necessities for Tiberius if he wanted to offer the assistants a living cat on Monday. He closed his laptop with a sigh, and headed out of his flat again.  
The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully. Tiberius was, to Jon’s pleasant surprise, a fairly quiet cat, and aside from the occasional headbut or demand for attention, pretty much kept to himself. Jon had had to look up how often he was supposed to feed him, something he was very keen on keeping private, but other than that he was not nearly as much trouble as Jon had anticipated. Still, he was looking forward to having his flat dander free come Monday.  
It was somewhat of a surprise when, on Sunday night, Tiberius lept up onto the couch and settled himself in Jon’s lap.  
“Oh! Hullo, then.” Jon said, awkwardly patting his head. He had curled into a ball and was purring loudly. Jon turned down the volume on the TV special about ancient Rome he had been half-watching. “Funny you should come in just now, did you hear your name?” He turned his attention back to the TV, but was unable to keep it there for long.  
“Did you know-” He said, again to the cat. “That you were named after one of Rome’s greatest emperors? You led several successful military campaigns, and were able to capture quite a bit of territory.” Tiberius purred, and stretched out one of his legs, curling in closer to Jon.  
“Oh, okay.” Jon said, laying his hands down on either side of his lap. He turned up the volume on the TV, and stayed there, the cat rumbling quietly. He checked his watch. It was almost 11pm. He looked back down at the cat sleeping in his lap.  
His alarm was loud, he reasoned. He could sleep on the couch tonight. 

Unsurprisingly, this was not the best idea, as Jon overslept and his Monday morning was rushed. He talked to Tiberius as he poured food into his bowl.  
“Right, so I’ll be gone for most of the day, and then tonight someone else will be here to pick you up. Probably Martin, but I think he’d be better at caring for a cat than doing academic research.” He picked up his bag and looked back at the cat. It would be quite a relief to have it gone, he thought, even as he felt a slight pang at the idea of somebody else taking it home. But, he reminded himself, he was still not in a position to be owning a pet, and he was looking forward to only having to worry about his own food. He rushed out of his flat and up the street to the tube stop leading to the institute.  
Jon found being on the train strangely relaxing. It certainly wasn’t the proximity to other people, but he liked the routine of it, knowing exactly when it was going to stop and people would empty on and off. He kept his headphones in, the duration of his ride and when he would need to get up were practically muscle memory at this point. He flipped through his phone as the train rode through the tunnels, thinking, for the first time, about the work he would have to catch up on when he got to the institute. He had sent the assistants an email saying he wanted to have a meeting with them first thing (regarding the cat, although he had left that part out) but he was sure that wouldn’t take very long. From there...his brain wandered to the statements that still needed filing, and he was thoroughly lost in his head by the time he got off the train.  
Jon walked into the archives to find all three of his assistants sitting at the break room table, looking somewhat nervous. It took him a second to remember why they were there.  
“Ah.” He said, taking off his bag and sitting down with them. “Right. Thank you to everyone for coming.”  
“I mean, you didn’t really give us much choice.” Tim said, although he looked the least nervous out of the three.  
“Yes, well, it was a bit urgent.” Jon said. “Well, this is going to seem a bit- unprofessional, and I’m sorry.”  
Tim snorted. “Jon, I don’t think you’re capable of being unprofessional.”  
Jon glared at him. “Well, it’s certainly not something I’d normally ask of my coworkers.” He inhaled. “Would anyone like a cat?”  
It was Martin who laughed this time, quickly clapping a hand over his mouth.  
“Sorry, what?” Sasha said, looking slightly incredulous.  
Jon sighed. “Look, one of my friends recently had to surrender-” He stopped, realizing he hadn’t come up with a gender for this friend. “Had to surrender their cat. And they didn’t want to give it to a shelter, so they passed it to me. Obviously, being Head Archivist, I’m quite busy, and so not in a position to keep a pet at the moment, but I thought- well, I thought I’d at least ask before taking it to a shelter.”  
Jon looked around at his coworker’s faces, all of whom were in some state of shock.  
“Hey boss-” Tim said, leaning forward slightly. “Why didn’t you just...tell your friend that you couldn’t take care of a cat right now?”  
Jon stopped. He hadn’t prepared for this. “I-uh- I didn’t really think of it.” He said.  
“Right.” Sasha said, and Jon had a horrible suspicion she was concealing a smile. “Well, I think you should keep it.”  
“Sasha, I can’t, I have too much to do!”  
“It’s a cat.” Said Tim. “They like being on their own.”  
Jon looked desperately at Martin, who looked genuinely sympathetic.  
“I’m sorry. My building doesn’t allow pets.” He said. Jon hated that Martin was definitely being honest.  
“So none of you can take him?” Jon asked.  
They all shook their heads.  
“We have lives too, Jon.” Sasha said, gently. “And besides, you might like having a pet.”  
“It might be fun!” Said Tim. “What’s its name?”  
“Tiberius.” Jon muttered. Tim choked back a laugh.  
“It’s like it was meant for you!”  
“Yes, well, regardless. I guess he’s off to the shelter, then.” Jon looked up, hoping that he might have guilted one of them into conceding, but was met with Tim and Sasha’s barely contained glee. He scowled.  
“Good to know you all have my back in a crisis.” He said, picking up his bag and walking to his office.  
“Send us some photos!” He heard Tim call, and then “Oh, he’s fine, Martin.”  
Jon shut the door to his office. “Damn.” He muttered, sitting down hard in his chair and putting his head in his hands. It had been a stupid plan from the start, of course he should’ve realized none of his coworkers would want to adopt a cat out of the blue. He sighed. Maybe he could find a no-kill shelter in the area to take the cat until it passed away peacefully. He checked his watch. He could do that when he got home, he had wasted enough time today.  
That night, Jon opened the door to his flat to find Tiberius sitting directly behind it, as if he had been waiting for Jon to come home. He meowed and wrapped himself around Jon’s legs as he stepped inside. Jon carefully stepped out of his embrace and hung up his things, then crossed to the couch and opened his laptop. Tiberius jumped up to sit next to him, and Jon pet his head almost without thinking. Maybe he was getting a bit attached. A search for no-kill shelters returned a few within a reasonable train ride that Jon could easily get to that weekend, as none of them were open after institute hours. He looked down at Tiberius.  
“One more week with me, alright?” 

It was Friday night, and Jon was stressed. Not only had he had to stay late at the institute to take not one, but two probably phony statements, but both Tim and Martin had been off sick, so he and Sasha had to do the work of four people, and one of the shelving units in the archives had broken, sending two boxes of tapes and papers crashing to the floor about 2 inches away from some graduate student. Now he was sat at his kitchen table, attempting to write an explanation to Elias, as well as a request for new shelving units, and an apology to the graduate student, and figure out what had been damaged in the incident.  
His phone dinged. A text from Sasha, who had stayed behind at the institute. Not that he had wanted to go home, but she had insisted that she had come in late a few weeks ago, and so wanted to make it up, and had practically pushed him out of the archives.  
Her text read: “Just got done. We can look at it more on Monday. It’s worse than I thought.”  
Jon felt his stomach drop. “What do you mean?”  
The three dots appeared on the screen for much longer than Jon was comfortable with.  
“Well, almost all of the files got messed up, but I can re-organize those. But the tapes were ones you recorded. A lot of them are...damaged.”  
Another three dots.  
“Sorry Jon.”  
“How ‘damaged’?”  
“You’ll probably have to re-record most of them. There are some older ones, too, that might just be lost. We’ll have to try and find the written copies they go with, if there are any.”  
Jon set down his phone. That was easily another month of work. He picked up his phone to text Sasha back, but dropped it almost immediately. He looked down at his hands, and saw that they were shaking. 

Jon could still remember the smell of the counselor’s office at uni. It wasn’t a place he had ever wanted to visit, but instead had been forced by one of his professors, after his hands had started shaking so badly during an exam that she had taken notice. He answered the counselor’s questions as best he could, although not without resentment. It was just a difficult exam, and he had drank too much caffeine the night before, he explained. He hated the gentle tone in which the counselor had suggested he maybe try taking one night off a week from studying, and maybe he’d like to come back sometime? He had thanked her, keeping his tone as even as he could, and practically bolted from her office, hoping she hadn’t picked up on how big of a lie he was telling her. It was true, Jon had spent the entire night studying and maybe drank a few too many energy drinks, but nothing but raw nerves could be blamed for his shaking. That hadn’t been the first time that had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.  
He _hated _it. Sat at his kitchen table, staring wide eyed at his hands, he hated it. Hated how fragile it made him seem, like the prospect of a bit of extra work was enough to send him into fits. Hated the physical reminder of the constant undercurrent of stress that flowed through him like electricity, which he normally ignored. He laid his hands flat against the table, breathing in and out in an attempt to calm himself down so he could just get back to work, but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and he felt the tremble increase to violent levels.  
“Damnit!” He yelled, slamming his hand down on the table. He couldn’t even make a fist. There was absolutely nothing he could do, just sit and wait for it to pass.  
He felt Tiberius’ head against his leg.  
“Oh, piss off.” He said, not looking at the cat. He didn’t leave, instead butting his head further against Jon’s leg and purring. “I already fed you!” Jon said, his irritation increasing. Tiberius laid down on Jon’s feet, staring up at him with wide eyes. Jon held up his shaking hands.  
“Do I look like I can pet you right now?” Tiberius continued to look up at him. Jon stood up and stepped backwards, dislodging the cat, and crossed to the couch. He sat down heavily on the cushions, still staring at his hands. He wouldn’t be able to do any work until it stopped, a thought that only served to worsen his anxiety. Tiberius jumped onto his lap, and began to rub his head against Jon’s left hand.  
He snatched it away, sure that any sort of physical touch would only make it worse. Tiberius laid down in Jon’s lap, purring. He was so warm. Jon set both his hands down on the couch, not touching the cat, and for the first time since he had received Sasha’s text, he felt like he was able to catch his breath. He sat there like that for what had to be a good five minutes, just staring at the cat. Cautiously, he lifted his hands, and laid them on Tiberius. It did nothing to calm the movement, but he couldn’t deny that the warmth was nice. Tiberius just continued purring. After a moment, Jon lifted one of his hands, and ran it along the length of Tiberius’ back. He kept doing this, eventually switching hands, until the shaking felt manageable again. He scratched Tiberius between the ears (he had a vague idea that cats liked that sort of thing) and carefully lifted him off his lap.  
He had absolutely no idea what had just happened, but he did know he felt much better. Maybe he could attempt to finish that email to Elias, and then he should sleep. It wasn’t like he’d do his best work when he was this wound up, he reasoned. For some reason, that thought didn’t irritate him as much as it would have an hour before. Tiberius followed him into the kitchen, and stayed on his lap for the next half hour as he finished his email. As he got into bed, he felt a pressure on the other side of his mattress. He flipped over to see Tiberius curled up right against the pillow. He smiled, faintly.  
“Maybe I’ll keep you for another week.” He murmured, and fell asleep. __

____

__

____

Jon managed to find excuses not to take Tiberius to the shelter for the rest of that weekend. Of course he couldn’t bring him in on Saturday, he was at the institute all day surveying the damage, and on Sunday he was far too busy with emails and errands to fit the tube ride in. He carefully ignored the fact that technically, that could have counted as one of his errands. The cat continued to slowly become part of the scenery of the flat, and by Sunday evening he didn’t think twice about the warm presence on his lap as he watched TV. Tiberius also seemed to be having an effect on Jon’s mood. A few times over the course of the weekend, Jon had felt genuinely relaxed, even with the weight of the work he would have to do the next week pressing over him. It also didn’t hurt that Tiberius’ vocal demands for food often reminded Jon that he should probably eat as well. Of course, most of this good mood dissipated on Monday, as Jon arrived at work and prepared to re-record most of the last month’s statements.  
Unfortunately, his good mood seemed to still be somewhat apparent, at least enough to be noticeable by Tim.  
“Spring in your step today, huh boss?”  
“Hm?” Jon looked up from his work.  
“You’re in a good mood, we can all tell. Spill!”  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”  
“It’s weird, is all. It’s a Monday morning, we’ve got loads to do, and you haven’t snapped at any of us once.”  
“That’s about to change.” As Jon spoke, he saw Tim’s eyes light up, and felt dread in his stomach.  
“It’s the cat, isn’t it?” Tim said, that gleam still in his eyes. Jon looked back down at his work, ignoring him. This was pointless, as Tim squatted down to meet Jon’s eye.  
“You’re keeping it?”  
Jon looked at Tim, annoyed. “Tim, this entire conversation is pointless. Need I remind you that we lost about a month’s work on Friday, and we all need to be focused on that. And nothing else.”  
“So how’s Tiberius doing?”  
“How do you remember his name?”  
Tim laughed. “Him? Oh, you’re attached.” He stood up. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell any of the others, as long as you send me some cute photos of him.”  
“Not only is that extortion, it’s also a lie.” Jon said, turning back to his work.  
“Yup!” Tim said, walking out. “Make sure you send them to the group chat!”  
“We have a group chat?” Jon called after him. He received no response. He shook his head and let out a noise that, to his surprise, might have been a laugh. 

Work ran long that day, and it was almost 8 in the evening when Jon finally made it home. Tiberius greeted him, although he sounded more impatient than welcoming.  
“I know, I know.” Jon said, pouring food into the cat’s still half-full bowl. He set it down, and sighed.  
Tim was right. It was a thought that would have normally caused Jon physical pain. It still wasn’t pleasant to admit, but he couldn’t deny it. For better or for worse, he was keeping this damn cat. He would not, he thought, ever admit that to any of the archival assistants, no matter how persistent their requests for “cute photos.” Admitting to himself that they were right was one thing, admitting that to them was another situation entirely. Tim’s smugness would be almost bearable compared to Sasha and Martin’s sincere happiness for him. That reminded him. He opened up his phone. The screen was cracked from where he had dropped it, but it functioned fine. He opened his text messages to see that he was, in fact part of a group chat with Sasha, Martin and Tim. He had muted it, and from the string of messages Tim seemed to send every day he had been right to do so. He looked down at Tiberius. Maybe he could send them a photo. He didn’t have to tell them he was keeping the cat, and it might get them off his back. He opened his camera and leaned back to get the picture, losing his balance slightly and stumbling backwards. He blinked, and suddenly the world was lurching forwards, and he was falling hard and fast.  
He opened his eyes, and he was on the floor. His glasses were askew, and he was vaguely aware that his nose was bleeding. He reached for his phone, even though looking at the screen made his eyes hurt.  
“999. I need to call someone.” He thought through his churning brain. He opened up the phone app, attempting to press the keypad, but his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold it. He pressed a number in his contacts, any number, and let the phone fall out of his hand as the world went black again. 

“Jon?” He opened his eyes. Martin’s voice seemed to be reaching him through a fog. He blinked.  
“Oh, thank god.” Martin said.  
“Here’s your glasses.” Another voice said. Sasha. He felt hands touch the side of his face, and the world came into focus.  
“W-what happened?” He asked, looking around. All three of them were there, and it came to his attention that he was not in his flat. He looked down to see an IV tube in the back of his hand.  
“You had a bit of a fall, boss.” Tim said. His voice was cheery, but he still looked worried.  
“We’re really glad you called.” Martin said. Maybe Jon was still a bit out of it, but it looked like he had been crying.  
“I-I’m glad I called too.” Jon said. “Er- which one of you did I call, exactly?”  
“All of us.” Sasha said. “You must’ve pressed the phone option on the group chat or something.”  
“Yeah, what were you doing in the group chat?” Tim asked. “I don’t think you’ve sent a single message in there.”  
“I was about to send you all a photo of my cat so you’d stop- Oh God.” He sat up. “How long have I been in here?”  
“A few hours.” Tim said. “Also, my cat?”  
“Drop it, Tim.” Sasha said. “Jon, obviously Tim or I can take the cat, at least until you’re feeling better.”  
“No, no. I’m keeping him.” Jon’s saw Tim’s face light up, and was too woozy to really care. He turned back to Sasha. “I was just worried, I didn’t know how long he’d been alone in my flat.”  
“If you don’t mind, I can go look after him.” Sasha said.  
Jon hesitated, but then nodded. “Thank you.”  
She left, and he was left alone with Martin and Tim. Martin looked exhausted, and Jon was just about to ask if he was okay when Tim’s control on himself burst.  
“So you’re keeping the cat, huh?” He said, leaning in. Jon leaned back, unable to hide the alarm on his face. Tim seemed to catch himself and laughed, straightening up. Jon nodded.  
“Yes. I was unable to find any suitable accommodations, so at least for the time being-”  
“Oh, just admit you like having a cat, Jon.” Martin said, yawning. Both Tim and Jon looked at him, surprised.  
“What?” He said defensively. “It’s a bit obvious.”  
Jon huffed, but he couldn’t deny it. “Alright, alright. Yes. I suppose I do like having him around.” 

Jon took the rest of the week off from work. He didn’t even need that much convincing to do it. The assistants seemed to be taking it in shifts to come and check in on him after hours, and he found that he minded less and less with every visit. It was a touch awkward when Martin came to say hello on Tuesday night. Jon opened the door to see him there, looking anxious.  
“Hey, Jon. Just thought I’d, you know, check in, obviously I won’t come in, un-unless you want me to, I just-”  
“Martin.” Jon held up a hand. Now felt like a good time to...say something. “I- I’m sorry. I know I haven’t exactly been the most...supportive boss and it- it’s not right.” He stood aside. “You can come in, if you like, obviously you don’t have to-” He stopped. He sounded just as awkward as Martin.  
Martin smiled. “I have been wanting to meet the cat, if you don’t mind.”  
Jon didn’t. The next few minutes were awkward, but Jon felt strangely better. He didn’t even feel defensive when he noticed Martin’s unsubtle glance at the scarf still hanging on Jon’s coat hook. 

That Saturday night, Jon picked up his phone, messaged the archive group chat and asked if they’d like to come round for dinner, and only had to put his phone down for a second before it was pinging like a fire alarm had gone off. It wasn’t a decision he had made lightly, but he thought that, if nothing else, they deserved a thank you, and as they apparently liked him, he may as well thank them with his company.  
That night, Tim brought the revelation that he was an excellent baker and almost an hour’s worth of stories about his exploits at uni. Martin and Sasha cooed over Tiberius, who seemed a bit overwhelmed by the attention. It was how Jon had thought he would feel, but he instead felt almost happier than he had felt before they had arrived, and when he waved them out, he found himself wondering absently when they could all get together again.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, the working title of this fic was literally "jon gets a cat and learns to be nice." This was also my first time writing Tim and Sasha, who are immensely fun to write. I know it's a bit long for just 1 chapter, so I'm sorry about that, but I didn't really feel like it would work well in multiple installments. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


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